Cotton candy wrapped silence

sliced into pieces,

hung by the window,

blocking the sun.

A supernova explodes

into a black hole.

(Endings taste like sugar)

I’ll send a message–

perhaps nail it

upon your door.

For once this tale

is known,

search for recourse.

A starless night’s presage

silenced the shepherd Amos.

For in his visions

all who gathered at the temples

bow to unknown sires.

Blessed be they who spark

the fires of discourse.

In the fading twilight sky,

a notion clings

to its dying breath.

For modern indulgences

to a time bygone

plague a once true devotion.

No wandering stranger

to befriend–

a world left cold,

and to the mend.

A rage transforms the shepherd’s tears.

Cursed be they who bear 

the power role.

The centuries will cry:

“Woe to you,

you hypocrites!

Preaching 

as if some martyr,

as if you hold a crown of thorns.

The hatred you spew poisons your mind

and damns your soul!”

Will you pity me or love me,

before the committee?

Question their lasciviously pious pitfalls. 

Plumaged viper,

We’re both condemned by spitballs 

and hung like doves on fire-ovens. 

Know their pity-love is only borrowed until you’re left hollowed with intestines 

cooked and swallowed. 

The dove you were 

was destined to scorch.

Heaven’s touch, foolish bird, belonged to me not hawks. Now we burn 

in flocks. 

Who will taste our flesh then try to fest on our fall? They never sought out the gangrenous gash that will ooze and rot 

on their tongue. They never thought we’d turn poison into power. 

Slow consumption travels through the veins,

dove pieces dissolved in acid, 

fumes resolved to enter blood and prey on hawks.

Know the flames are soft

until more doves fall lull

and with their feathers feed fires

that will one day silence withering sires.

Te amo con el calor de mis sueños,

como un fuego sin miedo,

que quema mis huesos.

Te amo como la lluvia que cae entre la tormenta y el sol.

Como la promesa de un día perdido 

y la ofrenda de un mar sin destino.

Te amé como el lodo marca pasos sin dueños.

Como la tierra olvida caminos

cuando se seca el cariño.

Te amé como un pez ama el aire

Como la brisa tiembla

cuando respira imágenes de nubes.

Te amaré como las almas atrapadas en cajas

que viven en la esquina 

entre tu boca y la mía.

I didn’t choose to be left behind in that month of May 

My bags were packed

My head full of jokes

I heard from Joe during recess 

One last check, one last glare

They thought I didn’t know 

A ghost through the curtains 

is always certain 

His hand touched her cheek;

The mark left was my dog’s enemy.

Sprinted back to the car.

Susie was dancing 

in circles.

I grabbed and pushed her into the backseat 

They came 

“Why is she crying?”

My mom said

as she fixed 

her makeup;

My father said 

a prayer as he gripped

the steering wheel.

Amen.

The lake always broke through quiet times before.

On the coarse damp sand

We’d laugh and 

build castles 

that lasted past noon.

I’d float in the water and

My hair, straight and blond, became cling wrap. 

The car swerved and I looked up.

My mom had been a seating rock 

held up by the grab handle.

“Calm down.”

Her mouth a straight line. 

“Catherine.”

I almost hadn’t recognized my father’s voice, rough and low.

My mom reached and turned the radio on 

And nothing else could come between.

I lowered the window, 

The cool morning breeze welcomed me.

I tapped my fingers

on the tip of glass 

as we neared the trip’s gateway.

Waterfall bridge was a local landmark 

that always needed fixing 

It stretched out amongst the pines.

Its two lanes were narrow and built for cattle.

I didn’t trust the bridge 

I’d count its length 

1, 2, 3

Headlights at a distance 

4, 5

A red van

6

It was a time when sight was blind

but I swear his left hand jerked the steering wheel.

White clouds

Drifting 

Olvido 

mi niñez, 

mi anhelo

como el naranjal olvida

los azahares

que no crecen a naranja.

In the field where we once grew,

I wondered why the deer departed 

as I pulled marigolds from their home.

Before the final petal fell,

I ate that wicked flower.

No lies left behind in its shadow.

The promises of stars

became celestial ash

marking our footprints,

scars.

Our plans became 

burned maps of places 

we would never see.

I tried to give you my soul,

only the weeds could hear me 

but they soon died from pesticides.

Let’s walk on the tree-lined boulevard.

Football season.

I don’t care for sports but you do

and I care for you.

Life gave us short change 

on a summer’s day.

Then in the fall,

a key thrown past a post

but I cut the field goal.

I dream of yesterday

dressed like a king

crowned by yew trees.

Your pinkie near mine

a promise owed to time.

The walk is a winding road 

leading to the start

with no end goal 

or throne of gold.

You fade like a breeze between teeth.

Noble wins belong to you, not me.

I, once a gem,

return to the path like a pebble,

And now, 

only the trees remember our story.